


Told You So

by ziskandra



Series: They Are Heavy [2]
Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Gen, altered present, and the cat saves the day yet again, but the cast is dreaming of the other timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 13:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/pseuds/ziskandra
Summary: Jowd's trapped living another man's life, a life he's not sure he deserves.





	

Alma is heavy in is arms, the weight familiar but foreign. He watches his wife's forehead crease as she nestles into the crook of his shoulder, her back pressed against his chest. “I'm worried about Kamila,” she confesses as Jowd rubs soothing circles on her skin. “Her nightmares are getting worse.”

He wants to be strong, tell her they're just dreams, _nothing to worry about_. Ordinarily, the reassurance would come easily. The role of the protector was always one he relished. Lately, though, he's been finding it more difficult to lie, and his tongue is numb in his mouth as his fingers still. Eventually, he groans, his other hand moving up to rub at his eyes. “Alma,” he breathes, “I don't know what you want me to _do_.”

She stirs against him and he immediately knows that what he's said is _wrong_. That's the thing about lying: it's easier to do to oneself than others. He's always known what she wants from him; he has never forgotten. “I want you to--” and her voice cracks in a way that crushes his heart in a million pieces, and his arms nonetheless wrap around her tightly, to give her a sliver of the comfort that she craves. “I want you,” she starts and stumbles, and those words, in a different tone, a different lifetime, would've distracted him completely. Her stutter breaks into a choked sob, and it as that moment that Jowd knows he is lost.

“You have me. I'm here.” The words do not flow easily after such a prolonged absence; Jowd so clearly remembers a world where he could not be there for Alma when she needed him most. Even though he has shifted time itself to return to her side, he's beginning to wonder if it has been enough.

He reminds himself that anything, _anything_ , is better than the alternative.

Alma shakes her head, turning on her side so she may bury her face in fistfuls of Jowd's nightshirt. “I want you to be _normal_ ,” she confesses, a harsh whisper.

Jowd almost laughs but is glad he doesn't, because the only thing more difficult than lying is telling the truth. It's been so long since anything has been 'normal' that he couldn't be normal even if he wanted to. Even if _she_ wants him to. _Especially_ because this is one desire of hers he cannot fulfil.

_Anything is better than the alternative._

All the same, he cannot shake the feeling that he has failed. His mouth is dry again as he struggles for the right words; this has never been a talent of his. All he manages is to draw Alma closer, breathing her in, citrus and lavender, she is so _real_ but he feels like he's dreaming. “I love you,” he manages after several deep breaths, his heart beating heavily _thud, thud, thud_ in his chest.

The words are enough to make Alma smile, even though Jowd can tell just by the breadth of it she has no intention of forgetting their argument yet. “I know,” she says before an intake of air that Jowd is sure will precede a _but_. Then, however, the door to their bedroom creaks open and Jowd can see his daughter's outline illuminated by the scant light of the hallway.

Kamila's face is pale and when she speaks, her voice wavers. “Mom? Dad? Can I sleep with you tonight?”

When their daughter's nightmares had started, Alma had joked about Kamila being too old for this kind of comfort, teased her about being too big to fit into her parents' bed. By now, however, this is such a regular occurrence that Alma's response is automatic. She shifts over to make room for Kamila, eyes wide and worried. “Of course, honey. Any time you like. You know that.”

The other night, Alma had drilled Jowd about why Kamila had quit her swimming lessons. Were the nightmares caused by something traumatic that had happened at the pool? Or had the dreams come first? Jowd had told her that he couldn't think of anything. It had been another lie.

It is not long before Kamila drifts off, nestled in between them, yet comfort does not come to Jowd so easily. Only in the moments before sleep takes him does he allow himself to revel in the simplicity of being able to merely hold his family.

* * *

When Jowd awakens it is late Sunday morning and there is a weight on his chest. That weight begins to knead the blanket and purr as Jowd stirs. _Of course. Sissel_ , Jowd thinks to himself, but the thing is, his thoughts are no longer his own. Not really. Sissel's ears perk up at the mention of her name; she raises a paw to her mouth and licks it clean.

_Good. You're finally awake. Has anybody told you that you snore?_

Jowd is drowsy enough to be embarrassed. Perhaps that's how he's come to be alone in the bed. _Well, Alma might've mentioned it once or twice..._ He then considers how this might all seem to an outsider and tries to draw up the blanket up to his chin. Sissel digs her claws in.

_If you're worried about staring at me too intently, I wouldn't be so concerned. There's a reason the Ancient Egyptians worshipped cats. We're adorable._

He finds that he cannot argue with that, at least not in his current state. Bereft of a comeback, Jowd resorts to staring dumbly and Sissel stares back, tail flicking. It is still earlier than he would've liked, and it is Jowd's resolve that weakens first. _All right, all right, what do you want?_

Sissel fixes him with a withering look, no small feat for a house cat. _You know what I want. You're the one who's been ignoring_ me _._

Jowd wants to argue, but any retort he can provide dies on his lips, metaphorically speaking, as he finds himself shrivelling up under Sissel's intense glare. _I..._ His thoughts are not coherent, and Sissel, of course, can sense it. She withdraws from Jowd's outpouring of released emotion, fear and regret and _relief_ all intermingling in their shared connection.

_All right, all right_. Sissel withdraws in defeat. _No need to overwhelm me. I just thought you could use some help. We're all in this together, etcetera etcetera. Guess you could say I learnt something from Missile and all._

Jowd's heard a bit about the pomerian's role in everything that happened, and it reminds him of when the dog was just a little pup, when Kamila was just a little girl. She'd twirled the dog aloft in her arms, face lit up with happiness. 'Daddy!' she'd cried, 'What would Missile say if he could talk? What do dogs think about?' The way Jowd sees it now, he's not sure whether he should be careful, or _grateful_ for what he wished for.

_That's lovely, and all, but I'm being serious when I'm offering you my advice here. Unless you'd rather hear it from him. Alma put him outside after breakfast, but I don't think she's realized I can open the door._ Sissel flashes him a feline grin.

With a deep breath, Jowd reminds himself that it's mostly normal for people to talk to their house pets. It's not so normal for said pets to talk _back_. He wants to laugh again. Normal, normal, normal. Why does he even bother even attempting to measure his life by such a standard?

_You can say that again._

Groaning, Jowd pushes himself further upright. Sissel deigns to see this as progress and jumps aside to allow him to move, resettling herself on Jowd's knees. Despite her concession, Sissel has no intention of letting Jowd go anywhere. Not yet. The thing is, Jowd knows exactly what Sissel wants from him: how can he not? Jowd cannot avoid Sissel's thoughts and concerns even if he tries, and he has been trying very, very hard.

Sissel inhales sharply, a breath that arches her back and makes her tail stand on end. _Alright, alright, that’s enough of that. You know where you need to go. We’re going._ With one last stretch, Sissel struts ahead of Jowd, leading him into the bathroom.

* * *

They arrive at the penitentiary after Jowd is fed and showered and Sissel is merely fed. It feels like coming home, but in this time, Jowd’s on the other side of the glass.

_Well, well, look who the cat dragged in._ Jowd hears Yomiel before he properly lays eyes on him, but once he does, he’s surprised: it looks like prison is treating him well. Sissel puffs up her chest proudly and chirps.

_I didn’t think you’d want to see me._ The admission is easy because it cannot be hidden. They both know why he’d been dragging his feet.

Yomiel gets to his feet, the limp of his leg the only evidence of the events of ten years past, which had occurred scant weeks ago. He leans in towards Jowd and Jowd finds himself tensing despite the barrier between them. It is, at the end of the day, only physical. _Yeah, well, you thought wrong._

_Obviously._ Jowd knows the confusion is still rolling off him in waves. He tries to drop his shoulders, but they don’t budge. Sissel rubs reassuringly against his legs.

  
_No, actually, I got this one to check in on you._ He gestures to Sissel with a stuck-out thumb. Thought you could use someone to talk to. Didn’t want you beating yourself up.

  
This mind-reading thing is starting to become a real chore. Jowd doesn’t even want to acknowledge Yomiel’s assumptions, but he must and he does. Yomiel sighs out loud and settles back into his seat. _You know I’ve had a lot of time to think. And everything that happened, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Well, not yours and not mine. Not even Cabanela’s. Every shit thing that happened afterwards, never did. Because of what we did. You should be proud of that, at least. If anything, you’re the one who should hate me. But, I don’t think you do so there’s no point pressing the issue. You didn’t expect things to turn out this way anymore than I did._

It is a lot of thoughts to process at once, but Jowd is at least grateful that Yomiel articulates them well enough that he can separate them now, consider each and every thing on its own merits. He has so many questions, so many remarks he could make, but the thought that comes across most clearly is _Doesn’t it bother you how different things are?_

  
_I have my wife._ The way Yomiel says those words, it’s clear that this is enough for him. Jowd wonders if it’ll ever be enough for him. _Well, there’s also the knowledge that things were once a lot worse. I guess you could say I’m just grateful for what I’ve got. I never even dreamed that my life could be this good._

It’s an odd thing to say towards the end of one’s decade-long prison sentence, but when Jowd stops to think about it, really think about, isn’t Yomiel just telling him what he’s been telling himself all along? _Anything’s better than the alternative_.  
  
_Lynne will drop by later this evening_ , Yomiel asserts. _She’s been coming by more and more often lately, but I don’t think she really knows why._  
  
_She might, soon enough._ There’s no point in trying to hide the thought when he cannot.

Yomiel smiles. _We’ll see_.  
  
Sissel makes a noise that sounds like a sigh. _Can_ cats sigh? Maybe only if one’s telepathically linked to them. Nonetheless, Jowd doesn’t know what’s wrong.

* * *

When they arrive home, Jowd is surprised to see Cabanela sitting at his kitchen table. His first thought is _who let you in_ which is immediately followed by an answer of _Alma_ even though Jowd has a hunch that Cabanela has a spare key anyway. He takes the seat opposite and awaits an explanation.  
  
Cabanela flashes Jowd a smile that does not reach his eyes. Jowd hates that expression on his friend’s face, has been seeing it a lot lately. “Been sleeping well?” Cabanela asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Never better,” Jowd lies. It is the expected response, and one that Cabanela would usually accept, no questions asked, but instead, his old friend frowns, as if he’d been expecting something else. Something different.  
“I scarcely know where to begin,” Cabanela starts anyway, eyeing Jowd over the rim of a glass of a water.  
  
Footsteps drift towards the doorway, and Alma’s voice rings loud and true. “Then allow me, detective.” Jowd turns to face his wife, a dawning terror he cannot comprehend weighing heavy on his shoulders. He’d give up everything to keep his family safe from the horrors he’d been exposed to. _Had_ given up everything, once upon a time. And yet. _And yet_. It had all been for naught.

His hands begin to tremble. “Jowd,” Alma continues, before letting out a long, long sigh, “you brave and noble but complete _idiot_ of a man.” Cabanela, who had turned his gaze at the mentions of the words ‘brave’ and ‘noble’ as though the traits are catching just by being spoken into being, looks intently at Jowd when he speaks.

“We figured it out,” he tells Jowd. Jowd forces himself not to stand. Deep breaths. Calm. _Anything is better than the alternative_. “What the nightmares mean. I think, in hindsight, you first mistake was thinking I would ever back down from a mystery.”

“They’re just nightmares,” Jowd argues, but Alma comes over and lays a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Look me in the eyes and tell me that’s the truth,” she says, and Jowd is so, so tired, tired of hiding and lying and instead he slumps down in his chair.

Inhale, exhale. It hurts to breathe. “I’m not what you need me to be,” he says, looking up at Alma as he covers her hand with one of his own. “What anyone needs me to be,” he adds with a guilty sideways look at Cabanela.

Part of him expects them both to desert him now, to give up on the broken mess of a man he has become. But yet… Cabanela shakes his head with a bit more of his usual flair, a smile unfurling on his lips. “You don’t get it,” he says, before Alma interrupts again.

“And neither did you at first,” she says, throwing Cabanela a withering look as she squeezes Jowd’s hand. “The point is. We’re here for you.” She jerks her chin at Cabanela, who for a moment looks like an actor in a play who’s forgotten his lines. He remembers them in the nick of time.  
  
Leaning over the table to give Jowd’s other hand a quick pat, he continues, “And you don’t have to do this alone.”

There is a flurry of movement at his feet. Sissel brushes against his legs, tail perked up in contentment.

_Told you so_.

Anything is better than the alternative, Jowd reminds himself once more, and although this is not what he wanted, it's what he has.

He still doesn't know what he has done to deserve this.

**Author's Note:**

> As it turns out, Jowd probably still has some more room for self-reflection.


End file.
